


Intertwined.

by venomoussocks



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Missing Scene, Other, Romance, Scene: The Bus Ride (Good Omens), hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 06:50:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20990633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomoussocks/pseuds/venomoussocks
Summary: Yes, I know, the bus scene has been written hundreds of times but I simply couldn't resist.On the ride back to London, hand holding happens and Crowley is a wreck.English is not my 1st language, so feel free to correct me if you notice anything weird <3Constructive criticism will be greatly appreciated!





	Intertwined.

''It burned down, remember?''

Crowley struggled to say this as softly as he possibly could, which was kind of a big effort (lowercase e) to make for a demon. They were both already so tired, their feelings all over the place, and Crowley hated to make it worse by having to remind the angel of the loss of his beloved bookshop.

''Oh,'' Aziraphale breathed out an almost inaudible response. Crowley felt a heaviness set in his chest at the sight of the other's face falling as he was reminded that yes, that was in fact the harsh truth. Crowley knew what the bookshop had meant to the angel. He wished it was in his power to bring it back somehow. He shifted on the bench, facing the blond man a bit better, still keeping his usual sprawl that currently failed to make him look as carefree as he wished. He was tense, he was exhausted, and frankly, he just wanted to go to sleep for another century.

''You can stay at my place,'' he offered before he even realized what he was saying. Aziraphale looked up from his hands, which he was clasping together rather tightly. Crowley felt his human heart skip a beat— a harmless thing for his technically immortal vessel, but an unwelcome feeling nonetheless— and hurried to continue.  
''If you'd like.''

He desperately wished he'd agree to go with him. There was nowhere else for the angel to go, and after what the two had been through together, Crowley didn't think he could stand to be alone now.

Tired eyes shifted back down as Aziraphale wrung his hands, clearly considering it but holding back. Always holding back. Crowley frowned, but waited patiently. Patient, that was him. Always had been. At least with one particular celestial being.

''I don't think my side would like that,'' came a hoarse reply.

''You don't have a side anymore.'' That earned Crowley another look from the angel. He could see the storm of emotions behind those pale blue eyes. He was glad his own were covered. ''Neither of us do.''

A beat of silence. Careful consideration of words.

''We're on our own side.''

A bus slowed down in front of the two and Crowley waved a hand to signal it to stop. The light board on top of it said ''OXFORD'' but the driver would miraculously forget that. Crowley stood up from the bench and turned his head to look down at his companion, offering a hand.

Aziraphale took it.

And what sent Crowley's brain going haywire was the fact that even after they had both sat down on the bus, this time next to each other, the angel did not let go.

The redhead barely dared to breathe, afraid of losing the contact if he was to do so much as to disturb the air. He was, once again, eternally grateful for his sunglasses because his nervous glances at his friend went unnoticed. Aziraphale kept his own gaze on his lap, seeming lost in thought.

_'Whooo-eee,'_ went Anthony Crowley's mind, but his last remaining brain cells thankfully knew better than to voice the thought.

When a few silence-filled minutes had passed by, Crowley finally dared to lean his head against the window, ignoring the uncomfortable rumble of the engine against his skull. His head was filled with ridiculous amounts of thoughts, but right now he could only focus on the soft, manicured hand in his.

Perhaps the angel was doing it subconsciously, thought Crowley. They were both shaken and exhausted; it would be no surprise if Aziraphale was simply so out of it that he had forgotten to let go. Crowley closed his eyes behind his sunglasses, taking a deep breath.

Whatever the reason behind the angel's gesture was, the demon cherished it. The warm weight against his palm was incredibly comforting. Many things had happened today and Crowley had momentarily been led to believe that he'd never see the other again.

His body gave a slight shudder.

That he'd never have a chance like this again.

The hand that had been almost completely still on top of his until this point now gave a tentative squeeze, startling Aziraphale's demonic counterpart out of his thoughts. Crowley turned his head to look at the other man, swallowing down a feeling that was teetering dangerously close to hope.

''Thank you, again,'' Aziraphale said with a soft smile, ''For letting me stay. And, well, everything else.''

Crowley only stared blankly, not feeling like ''you're welcome'' would be an appropriate response in this situation.

''You did save the world today, my dear.'' Aziraphale was now absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over the demon's bruised knuckles, unaware of how that simple action was only further breaking the ginger-haired man's mind.

''_We_ did,'' Crowley corrected, cringing at how hoarse his voice sounded. ''Or, well, it was mostly the kids, really. The antichrist. Adam, yeah.'' He waved his free hand dismissively.

''And uh,'' he swallowed awkwardly, ''You know you're always welcome to stay.''

Aziraphale only responded with another warm smile and Crowley had to look away. He pretended to stare out of the window, despite the fact that it was too dark outside to actually see anything but the reflection of himself and the other man. He scowled at the redheaded dumbass in the window, suddenly hating the fact that the said dumbass was he himself. Thousands of years of yearning. Thousands of years of wanting and hoping and now he was freaking out over something as simple as this.

God, he really was terrible at being a demon.

''Are you alright?''

Aziraphale was looking at him with those tired, soft eyes of his, brows slightly furrowed in concern. Crowley's equally exhausted eyes studied his companion's face. It was ridiculous, really, how angelic he still managed to look, even after everything they'd been through today. His soft, light curls were a mess, his clothes wrinkled and dusty. (Crowley made a mental note not to point any of that out- He knew the angel would have a fit.)

''Sorry. That was a rather stupid question, wasn't it?'' Aziraphale attempted to chuckle sadly, his eyes retreating back to his lap where his free hand rested. Crowley realized he hadn't replied at all.

''No no, it's-'' he stammered in an entirely undemonic (but very Crowley-like) manner, having not planned what he was even going to say. As usual.

''I'm alright, no need to worry, angel.'' He attempted to smirk. ''It's...Tickety-boo.''

His attempt to lighten the mood fell flat and Crowley suddenly felt the need to be discorporated on the spot.

Aziraphale glanced at his friend, still looking troubled. Crowley mustered up the courage to squeeze the angel's hand back, ever so slightly.

''Really, Aziraphale. I'm alright. Just...Tired. S' been a long day.'' He gave the other a tired smile, this time more genuine. The last thing he wanted now was to worry the poor angel more.

Aziraphale returned it with a hint of hesitation, nodding. He swayed slightly in place, his gaze moving nervously from their hands to every possible distastefully decorated surface on the bus, his earlier confidence gone.

Crowley, as tired as he was, decided that the way he was acting right now was awfully unfitting for a 6000 year old demon. He was the bold one of the two, always moving fast, always a snarky comeback at hand. That was not about to change now.

Perhaps it was those thoughts or the earlier alcohol giving his messy brain a boost of confidence that led Crowley to tug at Aziraphale's hand, making the angel's side fall rather disgracefully against his. Aziraphale let out a confused noise, but Crowley hurried to adjust his position so that the angel's head was resting against his shoulder.

''S'more comfortable this way,'' he muttered as a clumsy excuse before Aziraphale would have the chance to struggle back up to a sitting position. When he didn't, Crowley allowed himself to relax just a bit. And if his heart was beating so erratically it was about to burst out of his chest, he would never admit it.

''You can sleep, if you want.'' Crowley internally praised himself for being able to keep his voice from wavering. ''I'll wake you at our stop.''

''I don't sleep,'' insisted Aziraphale, sounding somewhat embarrassed. It took a couple of moments before he finally relaxed, just giving up and letting himself lean against the demon. It was quiet for another long moment, only this time the silence was not entirely unwelcomed. Crowley could only focus at the warm hand in his, the weight of the angel's head on his shoulder and the familiar, light curls tickling the demon's neck.

Crowley felt like he could cry. (He didn't, obviously, but he felt like he totally _could_ have.)

''I do believe we have a lot to discuss,'' Aziraphale muttered after a while. Crowley knew he was not talking about just about figuring out the prophecy, nor about the day's events. As much as Crowley feared what kind of conversation it would be, for once he felt like he was ready to have it. They had been dancing around each other for far too long and now that Heaven and Hell were more than just pissed with them both, he could not risk having things left unsaid. They could die tomorrow. Really, properly, actually die, and Crowley would never forgive himself if the last words he'd ever say to his angel were something similar to ''have a nice doomsday!'' He cringed internally at the memory.

''Yeah,'' agreed the demon after yet another unnecessarily long feat of silence. Aziraphale had fallen silent and with a quick glance over in his direction, Crowley confirmed that his eyes were closed, his breathing slow and even.

Crowley couldn't entirely help the soft smile appearing on his face, accompanied by a breathy chuckle. Despite the angel's continuous insisting about his lack of need for sleep, he was now out like a light. But Crowley guessed he could leave the teasing; they had had an unbelievable day, after all.

He let his own weary head lean on Aziraphale's, careful not to disturb him from his sleep. The light from the passing street lamps brushed over the two and Crowley could only stare down at their hands, watching the yellow light lick over them.

The rest of the bus ride passed in comfortable silence, their fingers intertwined.


End file.
